


Proper Thinking

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel), Savageseraph



Category: Fringe
Genre: Bondage, Community: kink_bingo, Enemas, Humiliation, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 14:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/pseuds/Savageseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was not the way that slipping out to get Walter a strawberry shake was supposed to end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proper Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/247621.html). Set early in Season 3. Never say, "I'll never write X." From then on in, you're doomed.

Peter's mouth tasted like he'd just shotgunned another one of Walter's laboratory concoctions. Faintly metallic, strangely fruity, and a bit fizzy near his gums. He groaned deeply, distantly noting how the sound ricocheted around his brain, a series of dull thuds, as he reached blindly for the glass of water he usually kept near his bed.

He winced as something yanked hard on his arm in the other direction, his hand not making it past his shoulder, falling far short of the bedside table. Another groan accompanied his first try at rolling over onto his back, and his heart suddenly picked up speed, echoing the thunder in his head, as he realized he was bound.

Peter blinked as he tried to clear grittiness from his eyes. He rubbed his face against the pillow. _What the fuck...?_ Squinting, he glanced at his left wrist. _Cuffed to the bedframe. Just like the right._ This was not the way that slipping out for a few minutes to grab Walter a strawberry shake was supposed to end.

"Good. You're awake." The voice was familiar, soothing, but full of an authority that spoke of never having considered not being obeyed. "Try not to move too much. You are, no doubt, still feeling the combined effects of the unfortunate bump on your head and the stabilizing injection. An inelegant solution," Peter could almost hear a grimace of distaste, "but required, nevertheless."

 _That was not the Walter who was making cookies with Astrid while Peter went for milkshakes._ Peter tensed as a spike of panic shot through him. The room was nondescript enough that he couldn't tell which world he was in, but he hoped he'd feel worse if they had taken him back through to the other side.

"It wouldn't have been necessary if you had simply obeyed your father. Too long living among deviants and defectives has turned you into an ungrateful cur as well, hasn't it, boy?"

Peter turned his head, the scrape of metal on wood telling him his father -- no, the _other_ Walter -- was creeping closer. He swiped his tongue across dry, cracking lips, trying to focus on the wavering figure sitting beside the bed. "What," his throat closed around the word, making Peter swallow hard around it before he could try again, "What do you want with me?" It was a pointless question, knowing what this Walter planned for the universe Peter knew best, but the impulse to ask was too keen to be denied.

"Hmm." Walter patted, then gripped Peter's shoulder possessively, his fingers digging into the fabric of Peter's shirt. "I think we'll start with a lesson. Yes. A lesson in proper behaviour. Proper thinking."

Peter tried to shrug off Walter's grip, tugging at the cuffs as he did. Whatever it was this Walter wanted to teach him, Peter was certain he didn't want to learn. Which, he supposed, made both Walters uncomfortably similar. If only this one was half as batty as the other one, he wouldn't be battling the hard knot of dread that was twisting his insides tighter and tighter.

A sharp slap across his ass snapped Peter's focus back to the man beside him, the sting cutting through the fog still clouding his mind. He jerked, tugging harder against the restraints as he realized that for all he was still wearing his shirt, he was naked from the waist down. Walter hadn't afforded him as much as a stitch of clothing, and it was hard to bite back the whimper of fear that threatened to escape from his throat.

Liv would be looking for him. Peter closed his eyes, willing the panic away. This wasn't quite the way he'd imagined her catching a glimpse of his ass, but he wasn't in a position to be picky. Not that he really wanted to think about his current position too much.

Walter stood and rubbed his hands together. "We should get started." He moved out of Peter's sightline, reappearing on the other side of the bed.

Peter pulled hard against the bonds. He was certain that whatever it was Walter wanted to start wasn't going to be something he wanted to experience. He tried to move away from Walter until he felt a slight prick followed by the pressure of an injection. Walter hummed to himself as Peter felt his limbs grow heavy, clumsy.

When he barely flinched as Walter slapped his ass hard, Walter began rearranging Peter as if he were a doll. Peter found himself pushed and pulled, rolled and steadied, until he was lying on his side, one leg bent against his chest, the other tugged straight. "Move, and you'll find yourself with considerably less leash than I've already given you." Peter felt Walter's palm ghost across the curve of his hip, the touch almost affectionate. "I have such fond memories of your childhood, my boy. Such fond memories. Even when you were disobedient, there was something to cherish in your punishment." Another soft stroke across his skin made Peter shiver. "I think, perhaps, it would do us both good to pick up our lessons where we left off. Something... something parental.

 _Parental_. While Peter didn't often connect that word with Walter, this one was even less parental than the one he'd grown up with. He thought about what Bell had said, that he'd made Walter the way he was to keep him from becoming... Peter shivered. _Becoming a monster_.

Peter heard a snap of latex a moment before a blunt digit prodded at the space between his cheeks. It was cold and slick, and while Peter tried to slur something about his last prostate exam, his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. He twitched as a finger slipped inside, the only protest he could manage. The finger withdrew, pressed back in as it twisted. Peter flushed. If this was parental, he didn't want to play the part of the son. He shook his head as Walter patted his hip with his free hand.

The finger withdrew entirely as something else pressed into him. Peter made a strangled noise that might have passed for laughter if his throat wasn't trying to shut down permanently. Sure, he was fond of a little assplay, but he preferred it administered by hot blondes he was reasonably sure he wasn't related to.

The intruder slid slowly deeper, an infinity of time stretching out before Walter made a satisfied sound and stroked Peter's side. "There. That's not so bad, is it?"

Not so bad compared to...what? Other things that didn't involve having his father probing his ass? If Liv was planning a grand rescue, now would be her cue to break down the door.

A series of short hisses, rather like a sound of a blood pressure cuff expanding, had whatever Walter slid into him swelling. Peter bit down on the inside of his lip as, against his better judgement, his cock seemed determined to follow suit. Several more hisses and the part of the thing just outside his body also expanded, like a strange sort of balloon. He couldn't help the parade of party images that danced through his mind: colourful balloons, a cake, confetti... Hopefully Walter wasn't planning to throw a party in the shadow of his ass.

From the sounds of it, Walter was deeply enmeshed in _something_. The humming and soft snatches of what appeared to be Gilbert and Sullivan lyrics were disturbingly like those of the Walter Peter knew best, absorbed in an entertaining task. A shudder ran through him, his cock softening in response to a bright spike of fear. If this Walter'd been good enough to turn Peter toward the motel room's mirror, Peter would have been able to catch a glimpse of what he was up to. As it was, he had to wait and see, and that was not a comforting thought. Neither was the pat Walter gave to his hip just before Peter felt a stream of warm water start to fill him.

Peter tensed, shivered as the pressure started to build, though his cock turned traitor and began responding once again. He whimpered as the urge to expel the water sharpened to a bright pain, then faded.

"This may be a lot to take," Walter said conversationally as Peter groaned through another cramp, "but you've earned this, my boy."

Peter tried to tighten around the hose, to slow or stop the stream of water entering his body. He moaned as his body fought the invasion, tried to force the flood back out, but the device Walter was using prevented that. Even though he was certain it would bring Walter perverse satisfaction, Peter would have begged him to stop, but his tongue was too clumsy to form words.

It was only after another series of cramps left Peter sweated and moaning that he realized he no longer felt the stream. Bloated and sluggish, Peter flinched as Walter rested a hand on his hip, then slid it across his stomach, rubbing slow circles over his abdomen. "I'd like to see you try to run anywhere now, boy."

When Peter's muscles tensed at another wave of cramps, Walter's hand slipped, fingers brushing Peter's erection.

"What's this?"

Peter's hips jerked as Walter's fingers closed around his cock, feeling him out with almost clinical precision that made Peter's skin crawl. He cried out as those fingers tightened, squeezed.

"Wicked, dirty boy."

Walter released his cock just before a series of blows landed on his ass. Each one jarred his body, their dull ache tangling with the cramps that gripped him to make his balls tighten. Peter squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't sure what was worse: what was happening to him or the fact that his body was enjoying it. When a powerful cramp hit at the same time as Walter's blow, Peter's cock twitched. He bit down on the inside of his lip hard enough to taste blood, but it wasn't enough to stop him from coming.

"I trust we'll have the time to make you regret your lack of control." Walter's words sent a spike of ice down Peter's spine, the promise behind them dark and cold, not at all the kind of comfort one should find in a father figure. But then, nothing about where he found himself now was the least bit comforting, not the least bit how he imagined a parental relationship should be. He found himself wishing fervently for the strangeness of the other Walter, _his_ Walter, for odd nighttime conversations that were nothing more than jumbles of nonsensical jargon, for sudden cravings that needed to be met, for forgetfulness and flashes of fear and all the quirks he'd long resented in his _own_ father, all the queerness he'd forgive in a heartbeat now.

He felt a fluttering of fear in the pit of his stomach as _this_ Walter's hand slowly slid down the curve of his hip. Now would be the perfect time for Liv to play white knight to his distressed damsel. _Now_ would be absolutely perfect.

Any time now.

Peter swallowed as best he could as a lump of fear lodged itself in his throat. Walter's fingers were on his thigh now, drawing his legs ever wider.

 _Any time_. Peter squeezed his eyes tighter still, the blackness behind his lids a private screen playing out his deepest fears. He could hear his own heart beating, and as the moments passed, the sound of blood rushing through his veins filled his ears. Distantly, he heard a voice, thick and slurred by God knows what. Maybe Walter was keeping more than just Peter here. Maybe he had a whole stable of sons he could pretend were his own, some strange Peter-alternates of his own to practise on. The room wasn't big enough, the likelihood ridiculous and low, but that didn't stop the rising panic that was rapidly taking over any semblance of rationality Peter had left. He strained to make out the words; all but one was beyond understanding, but that one... The voice sounded strangely like his own. He whimpered, wetting his lips, struggling to bring his tongue under control. It responded, albeit slowly, and once again he heard it, that distant, desperate voice pouring out its heart and soul.

"...Liv." Any time now. Any time at all.


End file.
